For the Love of Everything Sacred, Chode School is Alive Again
In all honesty, I just haven’t had it in me. The thought of writing was a weight on my shoulders and the shit sandwich was not
sitting well in my stomach. Nah, man. I’m just going to bed. Sleep it off. I am not the first, nor the last, to get fucked over but it really ate at me this time. So much so that I think it has changed my personality. Whether it be for the better or worse only hindsight will tell me years from now.
I am a man that likes consistency. Change is not my best sport but I am in gym class and am forced to throw the dodge ball, red face still stinging from the last game. It comes to a point…do I thread the needle or just stick it into my eye so as to not see?
I am going to make some new pants, goddamnit. I like pants.
So here I am, settling into a new apartment. It was with alarm and caution me and mine decided to move in together, something I had never really done (I lived with a girl for three months once and it riled me up so that I swore it off for 10+ years), and I feel like I have actually made a good choice.
A fellow record collector, we found a good apartment that has a sound-proofed (in theory) basement perfect for our collection. Of course, this was the first room we put together. Her tastes coincided with mine and, if I don’t say so myself, we have amassed quite the library; everything from early Slayer to outlandish synth and general WTF. Only a baby’s handful of people have been over (we haven’t invited anyone as it is not completely done yet) and the consensus is in: “Living shit!”
Respect the lows only so you can truly celebrate the highs.
After my work week we spend weekends getting furniture or (my favorite) say, “…fuck it,” and go on a road trip. I needed to get things out of my bones; the marrow of being sedimentary gave my eyes a sheepish haze that only saw fences. It also helps that the cancer dog (diagnosed right after I got fired for something I didn’t do) loves the highway as much as her pappy (that’s me).
The computer sat there and stared at me through everything. The keys wanting to be tapped and the discovery of new music needing to be shared, I am now, humbly, with you again.
Let’s do this.
Ken Nordine is a famous voice-over dude that may seem foreign by name but just listen. His voice is, or was, seemingly everywhere. With his Colors album he stories up the rainbow and everything in between. Definitely a listen if you want some stoners over for a laugh. When I found this in Borders back when it still existed, lawdy don’t get me started.
I have an affinity for women of yore. My first love, true love, was Audrey Hepburn. As of late it has been Nancy Sinatra. Not the plastic one, obviously. Come to me.
As stated before I have been doing some home improvement in the new place. It was yesterday, with the cold sunlight peering through the windows, that I rediscovered my love for this album. Everyone spills their ball-juice on The Shape of Jazz to Come, but, goddamn, a little love for Twins?